“It wasn’t a bed, it was an outdoor hammock”: your worst hostel stories

The surprise hammock

Last year I went to Mexico and when I arrived I booked a really cheap bed in a hostel. I understood the reason for this price immediately upon my arrival: it wasn’t a bed, but a hammock, in the open air, under a rather spartan pergola. Yes, I admit, I wasn’t paying attention when I booked, but I took it philosophically: it was 35 degrees, it would be fine.

That was until nightfall and I realized that my hostel also had an open-air disco right in front of my “dorm”. And when one of my neighbors told me the day before, the party ended at 6 in the morningI started to think it was going to be a REALLY long night.

Dysrhythmia helping me, at 2 in the morning, despite a growing headache, I decided to put on earplugs and tried to sleep. I don’t know by what miracle I managed to doze for 30 minutes. I could have slept more if I hadn’t been woken up… by torrential rain. The pergola protected from NOTHING. I was soaked to my pants.

The good news is that the music also stopped abruptly. The bad: I definitely couldn’t sleep there, in this state. And since there were evidently no other beds in the inn, I ended the night sleeping on a reception sofa which was too smallcreating back pain in the process.

And what’s next? I simply decided to spend a fortune and spend the next few days in real hotel rooms.

Elisa

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A (slightly) overbearing receptionist

A few years ago I decided to take a small trip to Italy. I have always appreciated youth hostels and their meeting-friendly atmosphere.

After a few days in Genoa, I then arrive in Florence to this small, economical and rather well-located hostel. First surprise: when I arrive at the address I am told condescendingly that I have nothing to do there, that I am in the boys’ building and that the girls live in the one next door. When I go next door, a receptionist welcomes me, she introduces me to my room, her bed (which is next to mine) and she tells me several times that it is forbidden to have parties here.

That doesn’t stop me from going out that same evening with a tourist from the hostel. We drink, I have a nice evening and I decide to go home as discreetly as possible around 2 am.

I get to my room, I meet the receptionist, sitting on her bed who told me very naturally that he was waiting for me (why?). I decide not to make a fuss and go to bed as quickly as possible, balling up all my dirty clothes at my feet in bed.

I fall asleep and less than an hour later I was awakened by a scream. I turn my head and see the receptionist who seems to have woken up from a bad nightmare. I ask her if she’s okay, she mumbles. And he keeps mumbling. Until I realized that she was reciting some kind of prayer over and over again. For 15 long and tiring minutes. Until a roommate asked her to be quiet (which I didn’t dare do, at which point she scared me).

The next day, I really need to sleep. This obviously without counting on a new surprise awakening by our receptionist friend who decided to do it in the most natural way I gather my things that I had stored in a ball at my feet IN MY BED to fold them and put them away. When I ask her what she’s doing, she explains that it makes her look bad to see a bed with her clothes in a ball.

At this point I just decided to move on with my life spending as little time in the hostel as possible. I loved Florence but this story is both the worst and funniest of my experiences in this type of accommodation.

Sunrise

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Programmed insecurity

I am a violinist and I often sleep in a youth hostel when I have lessons or concerts to give in other cities. I feel like I’ve experienced it all, seen it all, from the cockroaches on the walls to the neighbors snoring like it’s a fighter plane..

But my worst hostel story happened a few months ago, in a city in the south of France. When I arrived, a receptionist greeted me and explained that access to my room was by code, specifying in a whisper that we must be careful not to let anyone in because thefts often occur. Atmosphere.

My room was on another floor, so I went up the stairs and found a corridor at the end of which was a sofa… on which three young men were sitting. They seemed to be waiting, in front of the entrance to my room. Did they come from the inn? Were they thieves? I don’t know, but without wanting to accuse anyone, when I stood in front of the door to dial the code, they jumped up and asked me to repeat the code to them.

In a vague survival instinct I told them to ask the receptionist for the code before faxing me into the room and slamming the door in their faces. Inside, the other 5 beds in my room were well occupied and the first question the girl in the bed next to me asked me was whether I had shared the code. NO ? General sigh of relief… The three boys had played the prank on the others too.

I didn’t feel like I was in much danger, but I usually take out my earplugs/blindfold to sleep better in the dorms. I didn’t wear anything that day, I hugged my violin like a blanket in my bedand I had a lot of trouble falling asleep.

Leila

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